X Y Z - A Detective Story

Anna Katharine Green

Description

“X Y Z: A Detective Story” is an 1883 detective novella by American novelist and poet Anna Katharine Green (1846–1935). Among the first writers of detective fiction in America, she is considered to be the “mother” of the genre for her legally-accurate and well-thought-out plots. A Government agent is assigned a case involving counterfeiting, but ends up head first in an active criminal investigation, with many twists along the way and accidently stepping inside the shoes of the ones being investigated, this fun, action packed mystery will keep you guessing. A gripping tale of mystery and intrigue that will not disappoint fans of classic detective fiction. Contents include: “The Mysterious Rendezvous”, “The Black Domino”, “An Unexpected Calamity”, “In the Library”, and “The Yellow Domino”. Other notable works by this author include: “The Leavenworth Case” (1878), “A Strange Disappearance” (1880), and “The Circular Study” (1900). Read & Co. Classics is proudly republishing this vintage detective novel now in a brand new edition complete with a specially-commissioned new biography of the author.

Informations

• Publié par: Read Books Ltd.
• Date de parution: 09 mars 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528792325
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

X Y Z
A DETECTIVE STORY
By
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

First published in 1883



Copyright © 2020 Read & Co. Classics
This edition is published by Read & Co. Classics, an imprint of Read & Co.
This book is copyright and may not be reproduced or copied in any way without the express permission of the publisher in writing.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Read & Co. is part of Read Books Ltd. For more information visit www.readandcobooks.co.uk


Contents
Anna Kat harine Green
I THE MYSTERIOU S RENDEZVOUS
II THE BLACK DOMINO
III AN UNEXPEC TED CALAMITY
IV IN THE LIBRARY
V THE Y ELLOW DOMINO


Anna Katharine Green
Anna Katharine Green was born in Brooklyn, New York, USA in 1846. She aspired to be a writer from a young age, and corresponded with Ralph Waldo Emerson during her late teens. When her poetry failed to gain recognition, Green produced her first and best-known novel, The Leavenworth Case (1878). Praised by Wilkie Collins, the novel was year's bestseller, establishing Green's reputation.
Green went on to publish around forty books, including A Strange Disappearance (1880), Hand and Ring (1883), The Mill Mystery (1886), Behind Closed Doors (1888), Forsaken Inn (1890), Marked "Personal" (1893), Miss Hurd: An Enigma (1894), The Doctor, His Wife, and the Clock (1895), The Affair Next Door (1897), Lost Man's Lane (1898), Agatha Webb (1899), The Circular Study (1900), The Filigree Ball (1903), The House in the Mist (1905), The Millionaire Baby (1905), The Woman in the Alcove (1906), The Sword of Damocles (1909), The House of the Whispering Pines (1910), Initials Only (1911), Dark Hollow (1914), The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow (1917), The Step on the S tair (1923).
Green wrote at a time when fiction, and especially crime fiction, was dominated by men. However, she is now credited with shaping detective fiction into its classic form, and developing the trope of the recurring detective. Her main character was detective Ebenezer Gryce of the New York Metropolitan Police Force. In three novels, he is assisted by the spinster Amelia Butterworth – the prototype for Miss Marple, Miss Silver and other literary creations. Green also invented the 'girl detective' with the character of Violet Strange, a debutante with a secret life as a sleuth. She died in 1935 in Buffalo, New Yo rk, aged 88.



X. Y. Z.
A STORY TOLD BY A DETECTIVE


I
THE MYSTERIOUS RENDEZVOUS
Sometimes in the course of his experience, a detective, while engaged in ferreting out the mystery of one crime, runs inadvertently upon the clue to another. But rarely has this been done in a manner more unexpected or with attendant circumstances of greater interest than in the instance I am now abou t to relate.
For some time the penetration of certain Washington officials had been baffled by the clever devices of a gang of counterfeiters who had inundated the western portion of Massachusetts with spurious Treasury notes. Some of the best talent of the Secret Service had been expended upon the matter, but with no favorable result, when, one day, notice was received at Washington that a number of suspicious-looking letters, addressed to the simple initials, X. Y. Z., Brandon, Mass., were being daily forwarded through the mails of that region; and it being deemed possible that a clue had at last been offered to the mystery in hand, I was sent northward to investigate.
It was in the middle of June, 1881, and the weather was simply delightful. As I stepped from the cars at Brandon and looked up the long straight street with its double row of maple trees sparkling fresh and beautiful in the noonday sun, I thought I had never seen a prettier village or entered upon any enterprise with a lighter or more ho peful heart.
Intent on my task, I went straight to the post-office, and after coming to an understanding with the postmaster, proceeded at once to look over the mail addressed to the mysteri ous X. Y. Z.
I found it to consist entirely of letters. They were about a dozen in number, and were, with one exception, similar in general appearance and manner of direction, though inscribed in widely different handwritings, and posted from various New England towns. The exception to which I allude had these few extra words written in the lower left-hand corner of the envelope: " To be kept till called for. " As I bundled up the letters preparatory to thrusting them back into the box, I noticed that the latter was the only one in a blue envelope, all the others being in the various shades of cream-col or and buff.
"Who is in the habit of calling for these letters?" I asked of the postmaster.
"Well," said he, "I don't know his name. The fact is nobody knows him around here. He usually drives up in a buggy about nightfall, calls for letters addressed to X. Y. Z., and having got them, whips up his horse and is off again before one can say a word."
"Describe h im," said I.
"Well, he is very lean and very lank. In appearance he is both green and awkward. His complexion is pale, almost sickly. Were it not for his eye, which is keen and twinkling, I should call him an extremely inoffensive-look ing person."
The type was not new to me. "I should like to see h im," said I.
"You will have to wait till nightfall, then," returned the postmaster. "He never comes till about dusk. Drop in here, say at seven o'clock, and I will see that you have the opportunity of handing hi m his mail."
I nodded acquiescence to this and sauntered out of the enclosure devoted to the uses of the post-office. As I did so I ran against a young man who was hurriedly approaching from the other end o f the store.
"Your pardon," he cried; and I turned to look at him, so gentlemanly was his tone, and so easy the bow with which he accompanied this sim ple apology.
He was standing before the window of the post-office, waiting for his mail; a good-looking, well-made young man, of a fine countenance, but with a restless eye, whose alert yet anxious expression I could not but note even in the casual glance I gave him. There appeared to be some difficulty in procuring him his mail, and each minute he was kept waiting seemed to increase his impatience almost beyond the bounds of endurance. I saw him lean forward and gasp out a hurried word to the postmaster, and was idly wondering over his anxiety and its probable causes, when I heard a hasty exclamation near me, and looking around, saw the postmaster himself beckoning to me from the door of the enclosure. I immediately haste ned forward.
"I don't know what it means," he whispered; "but here is a young man, different from any who have been here before, asking for a letter addressed to X. Y. Z."
"A letter?" I repeated.
"Yes , a letter."
"Give him the whole batch and see what he does," I returned, drawing back where I could myself watch the result of my instructions. The postmaster did as I requested. In another moment I saw the young man start with amazement as a dozen letters were put in his hand. "These are not all for me!" he cried, but even as he made the exclamation, drew to one side, and with a look of mingled perplexity and concern, began opening them one after another, his expression deepening to amazement as he glanced at their contents. The one in the blue envelope, however, seemed to awaken quite different emotions. With an unconscious look of relief, he hastily read the short letter it contained, then with a quick gesture, folded it up and thrust it back into the envelope he held, together with the other letters, in hi s left hand.
"There must be another X. Y. Z.," said he, approaching the window of the post-office and handing back all the letters he had received, with the exception of the one in the blue envelope, which with a quick movement he had separated from the rest and thrust into his coat-pocket. "I can lay claim to none of these." And with a repetition of his easy bow he turned away and hurriedly quitted the store, followed by the eyes of clerks and customers, to whom he was evidently as much of a stranger as he was to me. Without hesitation I went to the door and looked after him. He was just crossing the street to the tavern on the other side of the way. I saw him enter, felt that he was safe to remain there for a few minutes, and conscious of the great opportunity awaiting me, hastened back to the postmaster.
"Well," cried I, in secret exultation, "our plan has worked admirably. Let me see the letters. As they have been opened, and through no fault of ours, a peep at them now in the cause of justice will harm none but the guilty."
The postmaster demurred, but I soon overcame his scruples; and taking down the letters once more, hastily investigated their contents. I own that I was considerably disappointed at the result. In fact, I found nothing that pointed toward the counterfeiters; only in each letter a written address, together with fifty cents' wort h of stamps.
"Some common fraud," I exclaimed. "One of those cheap affairs where, for fifty cents enclosed, a piece of information calculated to insure fortune to the recipient is promised by retu rn of mail."
And disgusted with the whole affair I bundled up the letters, and was about to replace them in the box for the third time when I discovered that it still held a folde